Don’t mistake: I’m not just old. I used to be a banker, and I used to be sinewy and tall and make everyone either desirous or jealous.

Now, why does that qualify me to tell you all what’s what?

My younger self–an exceptional combination of earning potential, earning actuality, and manliness–had a window into everyone: their reflexive vulnerability. Yes they shook. Yes they stared. Yes they stuttered. And yes, I managed them all, managed their fears, managed their stuttered, tentative compliments with “Oh, I’m not that great,” or “Oh, everyone has the same potential,” or “Oh, stop,” or “Oh, your forehead-to-lower-face ratio is looking good today.”

Problem now: I set out to teach you how to manage your insecurities, but now I realize I’ve never had any of my own and I’ve always played on others’ fears of social slippage when talking them out of their pathetic states.

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I write the voices--inner and outer; sometimes nonhuman, inanimate voices loudly or quietly or silently or nonverbally telling me what I see and hear and taste and smell and feel and think, how others might sense and feel and think under real or imagined circumstances and how that all hangs together--that contribute to my inner life.